Buddies

Either this psychic I used to go to in college told me this, or I heard it on TV--I can't remember which--but here is something I think is true. Ready? Ok, here goes:

YOU ARE GOING TO GET WHAT YOU EXPECTED

YOU: Oh, wow--thanks, Jesslyn. That's really helpful.

ME: Would you shut up a second and listen?

So, we all expect something in life. For example, some of us expect everything to be clean, or that we'll be yelled at, or that we'll have a bunch of money, or that everybody will do what we tell them to do, or that we'll be disappointed, or that everyone will like us. And for the most part, what you expect is what you're going to get.

In my case, what I expect is companionship. Like Butch Cassidy and Sundance. Or Ernie and Burt. Or the puppy and the kitten and the other puppy in one of those pet movies where they're trying to get home to their owners, but they've got to walk to like Alaska from Delware or something.

The problem with being someone who expects something, is that while you generally do get what you expect most of the time, you're not going to get it all of the time. And so the people who expect money are sometimes going to have to be poor, and the people who expect cleanliness are sometimes going to have to use a really revolting toilet at a truck stop, and the people who expect disappointment just have to deal with not being disappointed for a minute.

And right now, I'm the person who expects companionship and who is feeling sort of lonesome.

Okay, keep your pants on, kids. (Ma, that means you. And Vicki, would you please chill for a second. It's cool.)

1. I have friends--lots of them, whom I love and value. And the kicker is they all have their own lives and families and buddies. But contrary to popular belief, I'm not 4 and don't need a babysitter (though that has historically been the response to my being by myself: "Jesslyn's going to be alone for 17 hours! Call Oprah! Get the Babysitters Club up in here! Somebody organize a rollerskating party to distract her!") So no need to come rushing over to my house with a casserole. I promise.

2. I technically am living with Odessa. But here's the thing about Odessa: if I were a partner in a cop movie, Odessa's kind of like the Police Chief who yells at me and my buddy cop and tells us that we have to do a better job tracking down the cat burglar or we'll get our beat taken away from us. She's not exactly buddy material yet. I'm holding out until she's 25.

This is what I'm talking about when I talk about Buddy Material:

Bryan was home from the field this weekend, and at one point I left the house without my cell phone, and sitting in the driveway waiting for him to come out of the front door, I though "crap, I left my telephone in the house," and as soon as I thought that, Bryan came walking out of the house with my phone in his hand. It's like he read my mind.

Right now I'm having to read my own mind. Which is more difficult than you'd think.

So Friends, don't pity me. Come stay with me. I have a cot just for you set up in the dining room.